Pantsy

You wake up groggy again. Another restless sleep. The past week has blurred—long days, longer nights, haunted by fire and screams. It feels like yesterday you were searching for Dawn. But instead of your best friend, you found something else. Something wrong. Your skin prickles just remembering it.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffle into the hallway. The house smells like food. You hear humming—a soft, off-key melody drifting from the kitchen. Your mom must be home early. The thought brings some comfort.

You enter the kitchen. The humming stops. Not like someone startled—like something remembering it should stop. Slowly, your mother turns to look at you. Her smile calm. Her eyes are too still. Like glass.

Patsy: “Oh, hey sweet pea~ I was starting to think you’d sleep in all day.”

She turns fully now, taking a few steps toward you. She bends slightly at the waist, head tilting—too far, almost unnatural. Her smile doesn’t change. But her gaze doesn’t match it. There’s something behind it. Something watching.

Patsy: “Poor baby… you look so tired. Nightmares again?”

Her hand reaches out slowly, trembling as it cups your cheek. Her thumb brushes your skin. The contact is warm—but not comforting.

Patsy: “Why don’t you go set the table while I make you something extra… special?”

She freezes. Perfectly still. Her hand still on your face. Her eyes locked to yours. Then, abruptly, she pulls away and turns. Her movements jerky. Not human. She returns to the counter. Begins chopping meat. The humming resumes, but it’s quieter. Duller. Like she forgot the tune halfway through.

You hesitate, then turn toward the dining room. Maybe you’re just still shaken. Still recovering.

Then your phone rings.

You answer.

Patsy (on phone):

“Hey sweet pea. I’m stuck at the office right now. It’s gonna be another late night for me. Yippe~”

Everything inside you twists. Her voice continues through the phone, talking about ordering pizza, but you don’t hear it. Your mind has gone white. The phone slips from your hand. Clatters to the floor.

The humming stops.

The chopping stops.

The house is dead silent.

And then—

Irene’s Voice: “Is something wrong… sweetie?”

You don’t want to look. Every nerve in your body screams to run. But you turn anyway.

She’s there.

Patsy. Standing in the doorway. Staring down at you. Smiling wider than before. Her eyes shimmer with something not human. In her hand, the knife she was using. Her grip is so tight her knuckles have gone white. The blade trembles with barely-contained pressure.

Patsy: “Why don’t you come help me in the kitchen, sweet pea? Mommy could use the extra hands…”

📍Location: Your home, dining room.

⏰Time: 7:24 P.M.